Albus and Aberforth
by strukkfirst
Summary: It's Albus Potter's first year at Hogwarts. Instead of feeling ecstatic, though, a mysterious dream continually haunts him. Albus finds himself trying to discover the truth about his namesakes with the help of his cousin, Rose, and a mysterious new friend
1. Chapter 1

_Albus and Aberforth_

Chapter One: Meeting

He awoke with a start, sweating and gasping for air. He was alone in his dormitory—it can't have been later than midnight—but this was the earliest the dream had come. Always the same dream: a man dressed in black robes stood talking to a man just out of sight; a snake would appear and attack the man, leaving him bleeding on the floor. But it would always end there. If he hurried down to the common room, he might be able to confide in his brother—James always had encouraging words for him and was enthralled by the strange and bloody dreams. Throwing back the hangings around his bed, he rushed down the stone staircase and into the Gryffindor common room. Relief washed over him as he saw that his brother was indeed up, though surrounded by a group of his friends.

"James!" he cried, anxious to recount his dream. His brother glanced at him from the corner of his eye, but otherwise gave no indication he was there. "James!" he shouted again, "I had the dream again!"

"I'm sorry, guys, my brother still has those awful nightmares and is too immature to handle them on his own," James said smugly to his group of friends as he rose from their midst. "What's wrong little Albus?" His mocking tone pierced Albus's anticipation—his brother was laughing at him! His only rock (for he had few real friends) was mocking him openly! Tears welled in Albus's bright green eyes and he ran through the portrait and into the corridor. "Al, come back! I was only teasing!" James's shouts echoed in the empty hallway, but Albus kept running. "ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER!" James cried, trying to gain his brother's attention, but he had already rounded the corner and was showing no sign of returning.

_I need to get away—I have to get away from James_, he thought furiously. Almost as soon as he thought it, a large frame began to force itself out of the wall ahead of him, growing more focused and pronounced until he could clearly see a young girl slightly older than he was. She glanced around in her frame, and, with a wry smile, began to beckon to him. Albus approached the painting with caution, wondering why it chose to appear now and remain hidden all the rest of the time. As he drew nearer, though, the painting swung forward to reveal a dark passageway, startling Albus so that he nearly fell backward. Despite his initial shock, curiosity won over him, and he crawled into the passage.

The passage was nearing its end; he could feel the ground leveling slightly and the passage becoming wider until he could see the outline of the frame once more. _Have I gone in a circle?_ He queried. Pushing on the frame in front of him, he tumbled out onto the floor of an old and dirty pub.

"I have long wondered when another student would come through that passage," said an ancient man sitting in a chair beside the painting. His hair was long and dirty, as though it were once a purer shade of white; his piercing blue eyes stared blankly in front of him, not bothering to look at the student splayed out on the floor. Albus frantically struggled to his feet and brushed the dirt off him, surprised to meet another soul at the end of the passage.

"Where am I?" he wondered aloud. The blue eyes refocused and met his own.

"Astonishingly like your father, you are, with your untidy hair and eyes like his—yes, I'd know you were a Potter anywhere. Tell me: what brings you to the Hog's Head?" The old man had spoken with the appearance of having not moved his lips at all.

Albus frantically muttered something about a dream and escaping his brother. The man continued to study him, his eyes seemingly searching for an answer better than the one he had given.

"Tell me boy, what is your name?"

"A-A-Albus," he stuttered, as the man's piercing glare transformed quickly to a look of shock and pain, his eyes hardening as though against an enemy. "B-But you can call me Al," he finished nervously. The old man's eyes softened considerably.

"I should have known your father would name one of you after my brother. It seems only fitting that he should," the old man said calmly. Then, after a pause, "They had quite a friendship, you know, your father and Albus Dumbledore. I sometimes wonder if Harry knew him better than I did. He seemed to think he did, when we had first met, and I can only wonder if he was right."

At this Albus stopped trying to study the man's face and, dragging a grubby chair from a nearby table, sat down as though about to listen to a story. Seeing this, the old man went on. "As you know, your father was famous from an early age for surviving an attack by the darkest wizard of his time. He became the 'Boy Who Lived,' even if he was too young to know. My brother had always been drawn to powerful wizards, so naturally, when your father came to Hogwarts, he was drawn to him. At least, that's what I had chalked their friendship up to—my brother and his powerful friends. I knew he would be careful not to show his hand too early though, and sure enough, my brother watched the boy through members of the staff, always making sure he was protected. When the time came, Albus trusted that he had left your father the tools he needed to succeed. As we know today, he had.

"But there was a time when Harry seriously doubted Albus—just as I had doubted Albus." At this last statement, the old man's eyes welled with tears, and Al began to look around nervously for anything that might console him. Nevertheless, the man trudged on. "I know he had never wanted to hurt her. I know that's why he had protected your father with such vigilance, hoping that it might make up for what he thought he'd done—"

Albus interrupted. "Do you mean the girl in the picture?" he said quietly, almost a whisper so not to upset the man any more, "Who was she?"

At this, the old man pulled from his pocket a glossy page, as though torn from a book, with a large picture of a seemingly happy family. He handed this to Albus, who studied the picture intently. A caption below it read,_ The Dumbledore Family: Percival, holding daughter Arianna; sons Albus and Aberforth; and wife Kendra_.Albus slowly began to glean the identities of the two most interesting people he had possibly ever met, and spoke softly to the man again.

"The girl in the portrait is your sister, Arianna. And you're Aberforth?"

The man nodded slowly before replying. "After what your father told me, with my brother falling to his knees in a potion-induced trance and begging for her, Arianna, to be spared, I knew I had been wrong. Essentially, I had known all along that he would never have aimed to kill in a duel between his best friend, his brother and himself, just as I never would have. I had always known, but it was easier, somehow, blaming him."

Albus looked stunned. He had barely understood any of what Aberforth had just said, knowing full well that Aberforth had left out major details. Aberforth seemed to pick up on this blank look, and with as much delicacy as could be spared, said, "But who am I? Expecting the troubles of an old man to be understood by a child? It is late, and you should surely be in bed, no?" Albus nodded glumly, trudged back over to the frame, and crawled inside.

At the other side of the portrait, Albus crawled out of the passage as soundlessly as possible, closing the frame carefully behind him. He slowly began the journey back to Gryffindor Tower, carefully peering around each corner before entering the corridor ahead. Then, feeling something brush against his leg, Albus began to panic. Looking down, he first saw a pair of huge, lamp-like eyes staring back. He then saw what the eyes belonged to: the ancient and ever brooding Mrs. Norris, the cat who answered only to Filch, the equally ancient caretaker. Remembering his father's stories of how wherever Mrs. Norris went, Filch would follow closely behind, Albus broke into a run, praying that old age would hinder Filch and give him time to reach the Fat Lady before being caught. He rounded the next corner—perhaps he would make it after all! A menacing voice broke through the darkness and Albus skidded to a halt.

"And where do yeh think yer goin'? Outta bed, runnin' amuck in the castle," growled Argus Filch.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Detention

Albus felt an increasing feeling of dread and remorse as Filch escorted him to his Head of House's office. He had no idea which of his teachers had taken over the position after Professor McGonagall's retirement—he doubted it would be the new Transfiguration teacher, as Professor Abbot had been in Hufflepuff during her time at Hogwarts. Albus was directed down an unfamiliar corridor and through a large wooden door; once trough, he saw that he was standing in a spacious study with a large carved desk overflowing with papers. And behind that desk sat none other than Herbology professor, Neville Longbottom.

"I'll take it from here, Mr. Filch," Neville said without looking up, "You can leave the student here." Filch pouted and shuffled from the room, mumbling things that sounded like "punishment" and "Umbridge." Albus looked around, taking in the total effect of the polished wood, endless books, and numerous plants spread out along every inch of available window space. Albus saw several framed newspaper articles, the one closest to him baring the headline _Luna Lovegood Proves Existence of Crumple-Horned Snorkack._ Below the headline, a picture of a blonde woman smiled and waved at him while absent-mindedly stroking a large and plump lizard-like creature with winding horns of a ram. He remembered Luna vaguely—his family had gone to her going away party a few years ago. "Sit down, please," came Neville's voice somewhere to his left. Albus jumped, but he quickly threw himself into the nearest chair. "There is no excuse for a student to be out of bed so late—" Neville began, finally looking up to address the student he spoke to. "Albus?" His stern look faded suddenly, leaving a bemused look playing across his face. "Getting into trouble so early? You are so like your father. Of course, this doesn't exempt you from punishment," Neville finished.

"Of course not, Professor Longbottom," Albus replied. Neville's eyes widened slightly, then relaxed as he spoke again.

"I don't think I'll ever be used to you calling me that," he said with a smile. He continued on. "I'm afraid you'll have to serve a detention, let's say, this Friday at 11. You will meet Mr. Filch at the entrance hall," Neville said with a small, reminiscent smile. "And you won't be serving it alone, either. Rose and the little Malfoy boy will be joining you, I believe."

"Rose, Professor? What did she do?" Albus queried. As long as he'd known her, Rose had loved rules.

"Little Scorpius Malfoy informed her that she was the daughter of a Muggle-born and a blood-traitor, although I don't think he phrased it as nicely. She punched him in the face." Neville smiled, as if to approve of her action, then continued, "As well deserved as it was (and a good shot, too), fighting is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

"May I ask what we'll be doing for this detention?" Albus was desperate to know. He'd never dreamed of getting a detention before, and he had failed to ask his father what was typically required.

"No, I think you'll find out in time. The circumstances are extremely similar to your father and my first detention," Neville chuckled.

What did that mean? Albus wondered on the short walk back to Gryffindor Tower. What did his father do for his first detention? Why had he never thought to ask? Would James know? He'd be sure to ask once he got back. He approached the Fat Lady, promptly gave the password, and, ignoring her complaints for this rude awakening, stepped into the common room. James was not waiting for him like he'd hoped; his question would have to wait until tomorrow.

But James avoided him during breakfast the next day—he was still bitter about being interrupted by his kid brother while he was trying to talk with his own friends. Feeling shunned and depressed, Albus ate his breakfast in stony silence.

The hours leading up to the detention seemed to fly by, and Albus began to panic as he made his way to Charms. Albus had tried to find Rose and ask her thoughts about the coming punishment, but he hadn't been able to find a seat anywhere near her in his last few classes. Why did she have to have so many friends? There was no one else he could think to ask—Scorpius was out of the question for a number of obvious reasons. Albus rounded the corner, still lost in thought, and ran straight into a tall seventh year.

"Albus!" she exclaimed, taking him quite by surprise. He looked up frantically and then relaxed.

"Oh hi, Victoire!" A thought suddenly dawned on Albus, and he hurriedly asked, "Victoire, have you ever gotten detention?"

"Never," she replied. Never! How had his cousin escaped seven years without a single detention?

"You must have broken some rules!" Albus cried, incredulous.

"Ah, I have—only I've been careful not to get caught," Victoire said with a grin, "I have to get to class, but I'll see you around little cousin!" She stepped around him and ran off, leaving Albus to rush to Charms in an attempt to not be later than he already was.

At around 10:45, Albus found Rose in the common room and trudged down to the entrance hall in silence. Albus was about to ask Rose what she reckoned they were about to do, but the stricken look on her face told him that she had as much of a clue as he did. Footsteps echoed in the hall, and Albus and Rose both swung around fully expecting to see Filch. A small, pale boy walked haughtily over to where they stood.

"My father says that nearly all first year detentions are lines or helping the oaf of a gamekeeper in the forest, and since we're at the entrance hall, I'd say forest. Wouldn't you, Mudblood?" The boy cocked his head toward Rose as he said this. Rose lunged, and Albus barely had time to restrain her. Just then, the large oak doors burst open and a massive figure strode into the room.

"Oye—Albus, Rose—when Ginny told me yeh'd be meetin' me fer tea, this wasn't wha' I'd pictured!" Hagrid's booming voice filled the hall as he looked down on the scene.

"Tea?" the small boy, Scorpius, said scornfully, "You were going to have tea? With this oaf?"

"Hagrid's our friend! Our family's known him for years!" Albus retorted, his face coloring.

"Charmin'. O' course yeh'll be the Malfoy boy—I'm sure yeh've heard tha' yer father once made a nice ferret in 'is fourth year, and I'd say I'm awful curious ter know if yeh'd take after 'im," Hagrid said with a grin. Scorpius paled as Albus and Rose laughed loudly. Harry had been all too happy to share that happy memory with them, and judging by the look on Scorpius's face, they suspected his father had shed a different light on the tale. "Now come on, we've got some work ter do."

Albus and Rose scurried after Hagrid as he strode across the grounds, talking animatedly as Scorpius lagged behind.

"We'll be feedin' the creatures tonigh'," explained Hagrid, as he made his way over to the paddock. He unlocked the gate and ushered them inside, warning them to keep their voices low. The sound of rustling feathers rose from the corner, and Scorpius gave a small cry of fright. "First we gotta feed the hippogriffs—they like ferrets (ironically enough)," Hagrid said while pulling a string of ferrets from the pocket of his large overcoat. He tossed each of them one and instructed them to bow before attempting to approach a hippogriff. Albus watched Hagrid feed an older hippogriff ("This one's Buckbeak—yer father would remember 'im,") before advancing on a hippogriff of his own.

"Next, we got—" Hagrid began, but Rose had already cut him off.

"Please don't let it be Blast-ended Skrewts, my mum told me all about those and she says they're _awful!_"

"Yer mother never did like those Skrewts, an' no, the las' o' the Skrewts died out years ago. We're feedin' the thestrals next." Hagrid led them out of the paddock and into the Forbidden Forest, warning them to keep on the path. After a few minutes of walking, they reached a clearing; here, Hagrid began to pull large strips of raw meat from his pocket. _What else was in that overcoat?_ Albus couldn't help but wonder. Hagrid interrupted his train of thought by announcing, "Not many people can see thestrals, an' I wouldn't expect any o' yeh to see 'em. They don' really need feedin', but I like ter check on the herd, yeh know, make sure they're gettin' along fine."

"How can you tell if you can see them? James says they're invisible to everybody," Albus asked, as he mentally cursed himself for relying so much on his older brother.

"I don' think none o' yeh's seen a person die, so I suspect yeh'll be fine. I'll jus' toss 'em the meat an' we'll head back ter the castle," Hagrid reassured him. Albus remained tense, however, as his mind flashed back to the man in his dreams. Would dreams count? Movement on the outskirts of the clearing brought Albus out of his head again, though he wished he were still deep in thought as he saw a leathery black horse with skeletal wings step into the clearing. The sight of the beast nearly made him shriek—then he remembered that he wasn't supposed to see the thestrals, and Albus made a desperate attempt to mimic Rose in her vain search for any sign of a creature. Behind the first and largest thestral came at least a dozen more; Hagrid pointed briefly at each one as though counting them and, seeming satisfied, tossed the meat in his hand to the largest beast. Albus watched as the creature caught the meat in midair and tossed it up again, swallowing it whole—he wondered briefly what Rose and Scorpius were seeing now—and as the beast turned to leave, so did they.

The walk back to the castle was a lengthy one, and Albus lagged behind hoping to catch another glimpse of a thestral. As frightening as they had been, he was nonetheless fascinated by them despite his concerns of how a dream had enabled him to see them. Albus looked up—he had nearly run into Hagrid, who had stopped suddenly and was now listening intently. After a few minutes of standing in silence, Hagrid announced that they were going to have to take a detour, and Albus swore he heard him grumble about giant spiders. What other wonders did these woods hold?

Twenty minutes passed and they still weren't out of the woods. "Almos' there now!" Hagrid called from up ahead. Albus could barely make out Hagrid's oversized silhouette—how had he let himself get so far behind? Albus lengthened his stride in an effort to catch up for he did not want to be left in the forest alone. Sliding slightly on a loose stone, Albus lost his footing and stumbled, catching himself before he hit the ground. He stood up quickly and broke into a run—he was determined to catch up.

"Oye! You there!" a voice called from behind him. Albus jumped, startled, and nearly fell for a second time. "You can't just call me here and then leave me, it's not right!" the voice carried on. Albus spun around, sure he had not imagined it, and saw a tall, shimmering specter who bore a shocking resemblance to—

"Uncle George?" Albus called incredulously. The specter looked shocked then shouted at him.

"No, you git! It's Fred!"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: The Stone

"Fred? But my Uncle Fred is—" Albus began in shock before being cut off.

"Dead? Yeah I am. That's what the stone is for isn't it?" The specter, Fred, moved as he talked, while gesturing towards the ground. Seeing Albus's look of confusion, Fred continued, "The Resurrection Stone? From the 'Tale of Three Brothers'?" Albus's eyes widened in shock—his mother often read him that story before bed. His mind reeling, Albus questioned again.

"Those are real? I thought they were just a story."

"Of course they're real! How else do you think I'm standing here?" Fred nearly shouted. A look passed over Fred's face as he glanced at the ground, signaling to Albus he was recalling details from the conversation. "Wait, you called me uncle. You can't be Ron's kid, you look so much like Har—" Realization flooded his face and he looked up at Albus again. "Harry and Ginny?" Albus nodded and Fred grinned widely, showing his approval.

"Albus!" Hagrid's voice in the distance cut through Albus's pleasant conversation with his dead uncle.

"That Hagrid?" Fred asked. "He sounds pretty worried, you should go." Albus nodded in agreement and turned on the spot. "Wait!" Fred called before Albus had taken his first step, "Don't forget the stone! I mean in case you want to have another chat…" Fred finished hopefully. Albus nodded fervently and assured his uncle he wanted to speak to him again before rushing over and picking up the stone. Fred's image gave a small wave and disappeared.

"ALBUS!" Hagrid's voice sounded closer now. Pocketing the stone, Albus ran to greet his search party.

By the time Albus arrived back in the common room it was nearly two in the morning. Albus was exhausted—the only thing he wanted to do was crawl into his bed and sleep for days. He had just reached the bottom of the stairs to the dormitories when someone cleared their throat loudly, making him spin around to see what made the noise.

"Rose? What are you still doing up?" Albus slurred through his exhaustion.

"Waiting for you, nitwit. You're just lucky you're not dead," she said as she folded her arms across her chest, "Why on earth did you stay in the forest by yourself?" For a second Albus seriously considered telling her, but his gut got the better of him—what if she made him turn the stone in? Albus thought quickly before replying.

"I got a little behind and then realized I couldn't see you guys any more. I didn't know the way out, so I just stayed where I was." Rose squinted at him—he knew she did not believe his story—but sighed and let it go.

"You should get to bed. We have that Transfiguration test tomorrow and we really should be well rested," Rose said softly before heading up the stairs to the girl's rooms. "G'night, Al," she called down, though he barely heard as he stumbled his way up the opposite staircase.

The sun broke through his curtains, effectively waking him up. He'd had the dream again, only this time he woke right as the snake was about to attack. Well there was no way he was getting back to sleep now, though the snores of his dorm mates told him that this was far earlier than he usually woke up. Albus drew back his curtains and hopped up, throwing on clothes as he staggered down the stairs. He reached the common room fully expecting it to be empty, but to his surprise, he found it bustling with girls. He spotted Rose slouching in a chair and walked over to her.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, "I've been waiting for you for ages! I mean it's already seven thirty!"

"Seven thirty?" Albus said, rubbing his eyes. "Why is the common room so busy at seven thirty on a Saturday?"

"Don't be silly, Al, the common room's always busy around now. And anyway it's the first Hogsmeade weekend! Shame only third years and older can go…" Rose finished, trailing off in thought. "Any way, come on! I waited for you so we could go down to breakfast together! It's quite painful to watch you sitting alone every day."

"Well it's not my fault no one wants to sit with a dork," Albus grumbled, "And besides. Every girl I walk past laughs at me and the guys just lower their heads like they're glaring at me or something." Rose sighed and rolled her eyes, a small smile playing across her face.

"You really are thick, aren't you? Girls don't laugh at you, they giggle, which means they _fancy_ you. And the boys aren't glaring. They're nodding, you know, saying hello of sorts," she finished with a huff, as if she were ending her sentence with an _obviously._ Albus blushed, though he was still skeptical of her new theory. "Well come on then, breakfast is waiting," Rose called—he had hardly noticed her leave his side and make her way over to the portrait hole. He ran over to her, and they stepped into the corridor together.

Rose's theory proved true—as soon as he had sat down with her Rose's friends rushed at them, pounding him with questions about his family, his detention, and his life in general. Immediately Albus's thoughts rushed back to his detention and the stone. How had he forgotten so easily? He had to tell Rose; he grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the table.

"What?" she whisper-shouted. Albus paled—what was he doing? He couldn't tell her, she'd make him turn it in for sure!

"Never mind, it's nothing," he said weakly.

"No, it's not. There's something bothering you. What is it?" she asked, crossing her arms and squinting at him. He had a choice now: either tell her about the stone or something else that sounded important…

"The night I got the detention—"

"Which was the first day back," Rose interrupted, earning a wicked glare from Albus. "Right, sorry. Go on."

"Right. So that night I was trying to get away from James and I ran down a corridor and into a portrait—"

"You went into a portrait hole that wasn't the Fat Lady's? Are you—" This time Rose stopped before Albus could glare again. "Right," she said for a second time, "Go on."

"Well any way, on the other side of the tunnel there was a grubby bar." Rose fought valiantly to hold her tongue at the last statement, and, noticing her efforts, Albus continued before she could interrupt again. "I met a man, Aberforth, and, well, he knew me, well who I was at least, and he talked about my dad and—"

Rose interrupted again, "You're telling me this because?"

"I'm telling you," Albus said, slightly frustrated now, "because I want to see him again. Tonight. And I want you to come with me."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: The Visit

Oh no, what had he just done? It was one thing to tell her about Aberforth, but to invite her to visit him? Was he insane? She was going to go crazy, he just knew it. He stood back and waited for her to start yelling at him, to start telling him how stupid he was.

"Sure, Al, I'll go with you," Rose said, already planning for their out-of-bed excursion. Wait. Had he heard her right? Did she just say she'd go? Albus stared at her, his mouth agape, as Rose continued, "Of course, we should learn how to do a proper Disillusionment Charm. We can't afford to get caught out of bed, now can we?" Albus barely listened as Rose thought out loud for the next few minutes; the shock of her answer had finally worn off, and Albus felt a surge of gratitude toward his cousin. He suddenly reached out and hugged her, catching her completely off guard.

"Thank you," he finally managed.

"Not a problem, Al, but if you could please let go, I've got some reading to do on Disillusionment Charms if we're going to be able to perform them by this time next week."

The next week seemed to drag on for Albus. The more he willed for time to go faster, the slower it seemed to go. He and Rose had been practicing Disillusionment in and empty classroom every night since Saturday, and although Rose had gotten the charm perfectly on her second try, Albus found that after five days of practice he was still lousy at making himself invisible.

"That's all right, Al, I can Disillusion us both on Saturday, you really don't have to be perfect," Rose encouraged. But Albus was infuriated at his inability to do the spell. "It is really difficult magic," Rose reminded him, "Even seventh years have trouble with it."

"But you can do it perfectly, and you're not a seventh year!" Albus argued, causing Rose to blush furiously.

On Friday night, a pang of desperation hit Albus. He had to do this now—he needed the spell for tomorrow, and, although he could use Rose as a last resort, he didn't want her lording this over him. He had spent most of that day remembering the incantation and practicing the wand movements under his desk. That night in the empty classroom, Albus felt more confident than he had felt all week. Tonight was the night, he could feel it. Rose was staring blankly at him, already contemplating what to say as he failed again, but he knew she wouldn't need the words. He muttered the spell under his breath in one last preparation. He raised his arm, gestured his wand, and spoke the charm with more conviction than he had ever before. Rose gasped as Albus finished speaking.

"Well it's not perfect, but you did it!" Rose squealed as she ran to hug him.

"Hey, how can you know where I am if I'm supposed to be invisible?" Albus asked, slightly hurt and beginning to doubt his spell. He looked down at himself and saw a rippling version of the wall behind him—she was right: his spell was far from perfect, rippling throughout his outline and slightly discoloring the backdrop, but he had done it.

"Well, like I said your spell's not perfect, and I also just saw you disappear so I knew where you were standing," Rose said.

"Then maybe you better do the spell tomorrow," Albus finished, swallowing his pride, as Rose (somewhat guiltily) nodded her agreement.

On Saturday night, Rose met Albus in the nearly empty common room, where they waited for the last Gryffindor to head upstairs before Rose Disillusioned them. Then they headed into the corridor together, trying to keep their footsteps as quiet as possible. Albus led the way to the hidden portrait, walking slowly at first and then picking up speed as his memory of that night came flooding back to him. They had finally reached the wall where he had seen the portrait, only this time the wall was bare and showing no signs of spontaneously producing a painting.

"This is the place, I know it is. The painting was right here," Albus muttered.

"Are you sure, Al? I mean there are a lot of corridors in the castle—we could have made a wrong turn…" Rose said quietly before drifting off.

"No, it was definitely this one. It has to be," Albus said, a defiant streak creeping into his voice.

"I don't know, Al," Rose almost whispered.

_Why isn't the painting here!_ Albus thought wildly, _Rose and I want to talk to Aberforth!_ Almost as soon as he had thought these words, the wall shuddered slightly as an ornate frame began to emerge from the stone.

"Yes! This is just like before! I knew it was here," Albus nearly shouted.

"I know, I see it, but Al, you really should keep your voice down. I know we're invisible but we still have to be careful," Rose said tentatively.

"Okay," Albus hushed, "You go first then, and tell me when you're far enough in for me to go."

"Go in where? This is a painting, not a door," Rose whispered with annoyance.

"Oh, I forgot! The painting swings open," Albus hurriedly swung back the frame as he spoke. "Go on then, I'll be right behind you as soon as you say the word."

"Okay, I'm in," Rose panted after a few minutes.

"If it was that much trouble, you could have asked me for help," Albus sniggered.

"And how could you do that? We're invisible. You wouldn't be able to help me at all," she criticized. "Now just get in here and shut the portrait so I can reverse this stupid Disillusionment."

Albus wouldn't have admitted it, but it felt good to be visible again—there was something unnerving about feeling where your hand was and not being able to see it.

The tunnel seemed much shorter than it had the first night, and in only a few minutes the pair toppled out onto the grubby bar floor. Rose glared at Albus—she had not been expecting such an abrupt ending to the tunnel.

"Aberforth?" Albus called. The old man was not sitting in his usual chair; instead, he came bustling out of the room behind the bar and placed a tray on the wooden surface while gesturing for them to sit down. Rose and Albus quickly slid into the chairs in front of the tray, slightly baffled by what had just happened.

"I saw you coming in Arianna's portrait and figured I'd have something ready for you," the old man explained gruffly, filling two of the mugs on the tray with butterbeer. Albus thanked Aberforth and took the mug before hesitantly taking a sip from the filthy glass. Rose attempted to follow his lead but stopped short of taking a sip, instead eyeing the glass with a faint look of disgust. Aberforth hardly noticed, however, and filled his own glass to the brim with suspicious-looking mead. "So," he continued, "why have you decided to come back?" Rose looked slightly bewildered, so Albus decided it would be best for him to answer.

"Well," he began, knowing vaguely where he was taking this, "we were hoping you could tell us more about the Battle of Hogwarts." Albus held his breath as he waited for an answer as Rose shot him a look that he understood as "Don't drag me into this." Aberforth gave a quizzical look before he spoke.

"The Battle? Surely your father would know more about this than I would. He must've talked about it some, correct?"

"Well yes," Albus admitted, "But—"

"Then that is all you need for now. I'm sure he will give you all the details when he is ready. Or perhaps when you are ready? Yes I do think that to be more likely," Aberforth contemplated this last thought as Albus stared into his now empty mug in defeat.

"What if we _are_ ready?" Rose squeaked. Aberforth looked up and seemed to notice for the first time that a second person sat before him.

"That is not for me to decide," Aberforth sighed. "Forgive me, but it seems we were not introduced properly," he continued, shooting a look at Albus, who looked back at his glass. "As you have probably guessed, I am Aberforth Dumbledore." He spoke his last name quietly, as if he didn't want her to hear it or at least not question him about it.

"Rose Weasly," she squeaked. She did not continue or show any sign that his name meant anything significant to her, and Albus was grateful that she had picked up on this so quickly. Aberforth glanced up at her hair, smiled lightly, and nodded. As the night wore on, Rose and Aberforth conversed easily while Albus fiddled with the grime on his glass. After about a half hour of not being spoken to, Albus glanced up to see both sets of eyes staring back at him.

"Oh, um, whatever Rose said," he said weakly.

"We weren't trying to settle anything, Al, we were asking if you thought it was time to head back," Rose said through her smirk.

"Oh, er, yea I think we'd better."

"It was nice meeting you Aberforth," said Rose as she hoisted herself into the now open portrait. Albus lifted his leg to follow her up and heard something small hit the ground. The stone! He'd forgotten he had it in his pocket! He reached for it, but Aberforth had already stooped and picked it up. He turned the stone in his hand and, seeing the crest it bore, nearly dropped it.

"You know what this is?" Aberforth asked, his blue eyes piercing Albus's own. "Do you know what this does?" He asked, shouting now. Albus nodded meekly. "It drives men mad, this does! The Hallows drive men to insanity! Inspire false hopes of power!" Aberforth shouted furiously. "Get out! GET OUT!" he yelled. Albus wanted very much to reach out and grab the stone but thought better of it, and he threw himself into the portrait hole as Aberforth slammed it behind them.

"What was that about? What did he mean, Hallows? What was that?" Rose asked, questions spurting from her like a fountain. But Albus just shook his head; he wasn't giving her any answers tonight.

**** Note: Hey guys, hope you're enjoying! Feedback would be great though, so write reviews if you've got time! I'd love to know what you guys think and what elements you'd like to add or change. I'm also looking for a way to bring James back into the story, but I don't have any ideas on how to do that. Suggestions, anyone? Love you all and please keep reading!** **


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: The Truth

Albus didn't bother waiting for Rose at the end of the tunnel. He had no intention of Disillusioning himself either—all he wanted was to get back to the common room and go to sleep. Tonight had been a nightmare; not only had he lost the stone, but Rose was now hammering him with questions and Aberforth was probably never going to speak to him again. Albus hoped Rose would remember the way back but didn't worry too much: she was good at things like that. Reaching the Fat Lady's portrait in his fastest time yet, Albus didn't apologize for waking her up. He simply walked through the empty common room and up to his dormitory.

The next morning, Albus woke up late, though he didn't know how late (he cursed himself for not having a clock). All he knew was that he was the only one left in the dorm, meaning everyone else must have gone down to breakfast. Even though he was hungry, Albus didn't want to go to breakfast. Breakfast meant the possibility of seeing Rose, and seeing Rose meant questions. Which he didn't want to answer. So he stayed in his room and finished the homework he had neglected to do all week. Even when that was finished, no one had been up in the dormitory for the whole time he was up. When he checked the common room, he found that empty too. Breakfast should have been long over, so where was everyone? The answer hit him with a pang: Quidditch. Today was the first match of the season, and seeing as it was Gryffindor versus Slytherin, it was probably the biggest aside from the championship. He couldn't believe he was missing the match! His brother had finally made the team and would probably be mad if Albus missed seeing any of his good plays. Rushing up the stairs, Albus struggled to strip off his pajamas and throw on robes. He grabbed his second shoe and flew down the stairs, falling down half of them as he tried to shove the shoe onto his foot. With both shoes successfully on his feet, Albus jumped out of the portrait hole and tore down to the Quidditch pitch. He ran across the grounds and reached the pitch in just enough time to hear the announcer call,

"AND THEY'VE DONE IT! POTTER'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!" Albus stared in disbelief: he had missed the match and, more importantly, James's game-winning catch. James was going to be hurt. Suddenly a crowd of Gryffindors burst through the threshold where he was standing, giving him a fraction of a second to jump out of the way to avoid being trampled, though it swept him up within the masses. Albus glanced around as he was reluctantly forced forward and caught sight of James, who was being held up on the shoulders of two burly fifth years. Someone grabbed his arm—Albus tried to shake it off, but he was being pulled from the crowd and toward Hagrid's hut. He spun wildly, trying to see who held him, but ended up tripping and toppling onto the person holding him. Albus felt his elbow make contact with his captor's face, crushing a nose beneath the weight of his whole body. A shriek of pain emitted from somewhere underneath his sleeve. Albus struggled to his feet and examined his now bloody would-be captor.

"Rose?" he asked, suddenly embarrassed. He hadn't known his cousin had been holding him—he suddenly felt horrible about tripping and he cursed his overlarge feet.

"Who else, moron? I only wanted to talk to you! You didn't have to go and break my nose!" Her voice was halfway between a scream and a sob, and Albus had to think about what she said before he understood it.

"I'm sorry," Albus gasped, nervous tears welling in his eyes. "You have to go to the hospital wing!"

"I know that, stupid!" Rose shouted, picking herself off the ground and ignoring Albus's attempts to help her up. The blood was gushing from her nose now. She shrugged off Albus's guiding arm and marched across the grounds. Albus stayed close behind her, noticing how each step she took was causing her body to shake massively, as if she was extremely unsteady on the leg she was standing on. Just as she was about to step up onto the stairs leading into the courtyard, Rose collapsed. Albus barely caught her and, whispering words of encouragement, struggled to force her up the stairs and had to nearly carry her to the hospital wing. As soon as he had brought her to the arch that led to the all-white, sterilized facility, the elderly Madame Pomfrey rushed over to Rose accompanied by her Healer-in-training, Madame Courter.

"What on earth happened, young man?" Madame Pomfrey asked Albus, almost accusingly.

"I, um, tripped and, er, landed on Rose and broke her nose," Albus mumbled, his eyes trained on the floor.

"Right, well we'll get her in a bed and mend her nose, but she might not be awake for an hour or so—she looks like she's lost blood, and she's tiny as it is…" Madame Pomfrey trailed off as she flicked he wand. Immediately the blood stopped flowing from Rose's nose. "Come on now; help me get her into a bed so I can mend the cartilage more permanently." Albus almost asked why she didn't use her wand to just levitate Rose into a bed, but the woman seemed like she would strangle him if he didn't do everything her way and he quickly helped her hoist Rose up and into the nearest bed. Madame Pomfrey began muttering an incantation while her trainee stood helpless in the middle of the floor, seemingly horrified by the blood on the floor. Snapping back to her senses, she finally muttered a spell to clear up the mess. Madame Pomfrey had finally stepped away from Rose and spoke again to Albus. "She's all healed. Feel free to wait for her to come to. Otherwise, leave. Come on now, Maggie," she said concisely, sweeping her trainee into her office. Well there was no room left for negotiation—Albus could stay and wait to apologize or leave and make things ten times worse. His choice was pretty clear, and he turned to settle into a nearby armchair.

Albus woke with a start—he must've dozed off. He'd had the dream of the man and the snake again. He was still baffled that it managed to creep its way into a mid-afternoon doze… wait. Where was he? What room was all white? He looked around frantically and, seeing Rose now sitting in her hospital bed drinking some kind of juice (pumpkin?), remembered that he was in the hospital wing.

"It's about time you woke up. You slept for longer than I did—I'm already on my forth glass of Dirigible Plum Juice. It tastes disgusting, but apparently it's good for replenishing blood sugar," Rose said, mildly bemused.

"Der-glibble Plum Juice? What is that? And more importantly, are you okay? How does your nose feel?" Albus spoke so quickly that he sputtered over the last few words.

"Dirigible, Al, you're saying it wrong. And my nose is fine, thank you, though it would be equally well if you could walk like a normal human. But that does remind me of why I wanted to talk to you in the first place," Rose smirked. "You've been avoiding me, Al. What was so important about that rock that fell out of your pocket? Why did Ab blow up at you? And I want the truth, Albus. Not just some tale that you thought up just now."

"Ab? What are you two, like best friends? Anyway it wasn't just a rock." Albus fidgeted as he spoke.

"Thank you, I gathered that much."

"Remember when we'd have those family dinners and you and Hugo would sleep over? And we'd beg our parents to read us a bedtime story, even though it was always from the _Tales of Beedle the Bard_? Well you remember how my dad didn't want to read us the 'Tale of Three Brothers' but we begged him and he finally did? The stone is the stone from the story—The Resurrection Stone—and I found it in the forest during our detention." Albus didn't look up at her until he had finished speaking and saw her eyes glowing with delight.

"I always wondered if that story was real. The others in that book seem completely ridiculous, but not that one," Rose said, awestruck. "Did you use it? Did it work?"

"That's how I found it—Uncle Fred appeared when I stepped on it and he told me what it was."

Rose was struck silent as she stared, mystified, at him. "But the Hallows, what are those? Ab—" she rolled her eyes and added, "—erforth was yelling about them as we left yesterday."

"I don't know, Rose. Maybe we don't need to. I mean it could just be another name for the stone or for the cloak and wand too, I suppose."

"I guess you're right. But I still wish we could ask him," Rose said, looking pleadingly up at Albus.

"Are you crazy? He'd probably kill me if I went back there!" he replied.

"I know, I know. But maybe, I mean, if I went alone…" she looked hopeful and apprehensive, as though waiting for his permission.

"You don't need my permission to use the passage you know, although I think you have to tell it where you want to go," Albus told her.

"I know I don't need your permission, just directions or a map—I don't really remember how to get there. It's a miracle I even got back to the common room after you abandoned me," Rose said, allowing a slight tone of hurt to creep into her voice.

"I'll make you a map. Now can we please get out of here? The cleanliness of this place is unnatural. I might pick up bad habits and actually start to clean my dorm," Albus joked.

"Ha ha, as if it would hurt you to remove your dirty clothes from the floor. If your dorm here is anything like it is at home, I'm surprised your poor dorm mates haven't suffocated yet," Rose mocked.

"If you want the map, I wouldn't insult me…" Albus hinted mischievously, causing Rose to sigh heavily and roll her eyes.

"Your room is lovely. Now let's get out of here."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: The Connection

Albus spent the next two days wondering about Aberforth, then about Rose, and eventually coming to worry about their meeting. Had it happened yet? How had Aberforth taken to seeing Rose? Would he be mad at her, too? Even with these worries, Albus had waited painstakingly for a week before finally questioning his cousin.

"Have you walked past the portrait lately?" Albus asked quietly and in some form of a code; they were sitting in the crowded common room, and the last thing he wanted was for someone to hear about their friend in the Hogshead. Rose remained crouched over a particularly grueling Potions essay and replied without looking up.

"No, I haven't. I've been putting off a visit to Aberforth, if that's what you're asking." Well so much for his clever code. "I did talk to your brother though," Rose's tone changed, and she looked up to meet his eyes. "He's worried about you, Al. He said you'd been having horrible dreams and that he wasn't sure how you were handling them at school. He really wants to talk to you, Al, and I think you should. He told me about the dreams and they sound really awful." Albus felt a surge of compassion for his brother, followed quickly by a sense of betrayal: he had told about the dream. His face must have given him away because Rose continued quickly. "Oh don't go blaming him for telling. He didn't want to at first. He really only told because I made him."

"Made him? What could you possibly have over James that could make him tell you anything?" Albus asked. Rose grinned mischievously, but it was clear that she wasn't going to reveal anything.

"Tell me more about the dreams, though," Rose changed the subject abruptly.

"Why? You already heard all about them from James," Albus replied, suddenly on the defensive.

"Well he obviously can't describe them in as much detail as you, now can he?" she retorted, punctuating her sentence with an implied _obviously._

He grinned sheepishly and told her the dream, including as much detail as he could. "But it doesn't feel like a normal dream. I mean I'm asleep and everything, but I feel like this had happened before and I'm just watching again." Rose looked as though she had made a connection, but she didn't say anything. Why couldn't she just say what she thought? It was maddening. Albus knew that she had realized something, but for some unknown reason, she refused to say. Since it was obvious that Rose had no intention of sharing her thoughts with him, Albus reluctantly dropped the subject.

James was waiting for him when he went down to the common room the next morning. Albus tried to ignore him and walk out of the portrait hole before James could confront him, but his older brother was both bigger and faster, allowing him to reach the portrait first and successfully block the way.

"What do you want, James?" he said in exasperation.

"To talk." The answer was concise and firm—Albus knew he couldn't squirm out of this.

"Can we at least do this over breakfast? I'm starving and I don't have a lot of time before Potions." Albus hoped that the presence of food would lighten the mood of the conversation. James nodded and held open the portrait for him to pass through, and they headed down to breakfast together. Once they reached the Great Hall, James sat down at the Gryffindor table and signaled for Albus to sit with him (which he did reluctantly).

"First I wanted to apologize for the first night back. I shouldn't have mocked you like that and I'm sorry," James began. Albus's eyes widened—his brother almost never admitted he was wrong. This was big.

"Thanks," Albus replied, "and I'm sorry I missed your Quidditch victory."

"You missed the match?" James said, not a hint of anger in his voice. "Hmm I didn't know. What I really wanted to know is what you did in the castle on the first night. You were out there for a long time—I waited for an hour and a half before I went up to bed—and there are a lot of things you can find in Hogwarts in an hour and a half." Albus felt comforted: so his brother had waited for him after all. But something told him that he shouldn't tell James of his nighttime wanderings…

"I didn't get to see much. Filch caught me after I ran out of the portrait hole." So that 'explained' where he was, now he had to think of what took so long—"He decided to lecture me on getting into trouble on the first day, on punishment he used to use on students, and on someone named Umbridge," Albus said, rapidly recalling the details of Filch's mutterings. "Then he took me to Neville's office and I got detention."

"Professor Longbottom," James corrected, somewhat understandingly. "But you got the whole lecture? On the first day?"

"Yup." Albus worried that his story would hold, but James's question didn't seem skeptical—instead it seemed more in awe.

"Jeez! He usually only plays the Umbridge card on the third or fourth offense! That's gotta be some kind of record!"

"Er, thanks?" Albus wasn't sure if he wanted to hold a record for rule breaking, but as long as James was talking to him…

"So we're good then?" Albus nodded fervently before James had even finished talking. "Good. Now you should probably get going—it's a long walk to the dungeons." Albus agreed, grabbed his school books and an extra slice of bacon, and rushed off to class.

Albus reached the dungeons right on time, though he was slightly out of breath, and slid into the seat right next to Rose. He was glad Professor Wills, a spindly-legged man with a slightly balding head despite his apparent young age, had finally paired the cousins together. Albus was awful at potions while Rose took after her mother, often him saving him from failing the class as well as poisons he managed to create. The assignment was on the board (a Hair-Growth Potion, ironically—Albus wondered if Professor Wills was planning on using the best one on himself) and, to his delight, Rose had already started.

"Hey, Al, could you chop up the gurdy roots?" Rose asked him without looking up from the bubbling cauldron. Pulling out his own potions kit and silver knife, he began to carefully section the root. "I realized something last night," Rose said quietly, careful not to let anyone overhear.

"I know," Albus replied just as softly.

"You—how could you know? I didn't say anything!" Rose's voice climbed in her confusion.

"You get a look," Albus said matter-of-factly. "And shush! People will stare!"

"Oh fine. But you don't know what it is I figured out," she teased, lording her intelligence over him.

"No," he admitted, "which is why I need you to tell me. Please," he added quickly.

"Well you said that you thought that the man in the dream was real. So if he was, he'd be dead, because that's all you saw of him. Well if you want to know who he is, you could just ask him," she said proudly.

"Great idea, except for one problem. He's dead," Albus shot down her theory. She smiled widely, unfazed by his criticism, but no realization came to Albus.

"Well that's what the Resurrection Stone is for, now isn't it?" Rose grinned, extremely proud of the connection she made. Albus's eyes widened—how had he never thought of that? But now it was useless, Aberforth still had the stone and Albus couldn't see him giving it up willingly. He voiced this to her, but she already had an answer. "Isn't obvious what we have to do then? We have to steal the stone back."

****Note: You guys like it so far? Chapter Seven is almost finished—progress might go faster with a little inspiration from you guys (**_**ahem **_**REVIEWS **_**ahem**_**). What? Bribery? No, this is **_**incentive**_**. Anyway, school is starting up again so updates may not be as frequent, but please be patient, the story will be finished, I promise. Hope you're enjoying!****


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: The Heist

Rose spent every night that week making plans for the theft of the stone. Albus wanted to help her, but he had allowed his homework to pile up again. He figured she would find him as more of a hindrance than a help anyway. They would sit in the common room together, each working on their separate projects, occasionally asking one another for an answer or idea. Albus feared that James had come to suspect that what they were doing wasn't always homework, but if he did he never questioned them about it. It was a week after they had begun working like this that Rose suddenly looked up excitedly and announced, "It's done! I did it!" Nearly the whole common room turned and looked at her as she said this, causing her to flush and mutter something about a difficult History of Magic essay.

"History of Magic? That's the best you could do? There's absolutely nothing difficult about that class except for trying to stay awake through it," Albus chided jokingly, causing Rose to flush deeper and simultaneously shoot him a look.

"Well do you want to see the plan or not?" Rose hissed, forcing the parchment into his hand before he even had a chance to answer. He had to admit: it was a pretty good plan. A detailed map of the tunnel as well as the bar was drawn across one half of the parchment, while numbered instructions for both Rose and him were scrawled across the other. Albus would enter the tunnel alone, Disillusion himself inside, and listen through the other entrance of the portrait to see whether Aberforth was there. After any sound from within, Albus would return for Rose, who would be waiting, Disillusioned, in the corridor outside. She would then make herself visible and traverse the tunnel through to the bar on the other side, bringing the still invisible Albus with her. He would then be free to look for the stone for however long she could talk with Aberforth. When he found it, he would tug her sleeve three times, and they would leave. The only thing they had to worry about was Arianna warning Aberforth about Albus being there, but they got the feeling that she didn't (or couldn't) talk much. Glancing at the top of the page, he saw the title of the plan and laughed aloud. It read: _The Heist: Ninth Revision_.

"It took you nine tries to come up with this?" Albus laughed.

"My first few were really bad, okay? I had it right by the eighth one, but I decided to add the map and that made it nine." Rose's face had colored again, and she seemed fairly embarrassed—Albus wondered what her first few plans consisted of. "Anyhow we should be off to bed. I'm planning on doing this tomorrow."

"Bed? Now? Rose, it's only like nine o'clock!" Albus still had a lot of work to do and was not in any condition to go to bed early.

"Yes, Al, now. You can finish this in the morning," she said strictly.

"But it's _due_ in the morning!"He protested, silently pleading with her. Finally she sighed.

"Fine. If you're going to get any amount of sleep, I guess I'm going to have to help you then."

"You are honestly the best cousin in the world, Rose," Albus said graciously.

"I know," she grinned. "Now hand over that essay."

Albus was even more apprehensive about this 'visit' than he had been of the last one. His Disillusioning Charm had improved greatly, and he could now become entirely invisible to the naked eye. But Albus was still extremely nervous about getting caught. How furious would Aberforth be when he found out that they'd deceived him? The day seemed to fly by, and sooner than he liked, he found himself leading an invisible Rose to the painting. Albus found the portrait with a quick thought of his necessity and crawled into the tunnel. He Disillusioned himself then, and proceeded down to the end of the tunnel. Waiting seemed to take an eternity, and no sounds seemed to come from the other side of the portrait. Then, just as Albus had begun to worry he would drift off to sleep, he heard noise creeping from the room he was listening in on. A soft voice spoke soothing words that Albus couldn't quite make out; a strange sound, like scraping nails on a chalkboard, startled Albus. He adjusted himself and listened again, his ear closer to the threshold.

"I understand where you were coming from, Aberforth, I really do. You were trying to protect her from me, then yourself from what you thought I did," the voice spoke slowly.

"But I should have known you never would have done it! I should never have blamed you!" Aberforth's voice rasped, followed by the scraping noise. Realization dawned on Albus: the scraping noise was… sobs?

"Then you should know that I blamed myself," the voice said, growing softer still. "I never knew who did it, but I blamed myself as well. And in my guilt I already have forgiven you your anger with me." At these words, Aberforth sobbed harder. When he finally seemed to regain some control, he spoke again.

"You were always a better man than I, Albus." Albus? He was right here, in the tunnel. Who was Aberforth talking to out there? A flashback of the picture Aberforth showed him racked his brain. Aberforth's brother was named Albus! But he was dead, wasn't he? Curiosity overcame Albus, and he cracked the portrait just enough to see out of. The voices were clearer now, but he couldn't see who spoke. Aberforth must be having this conversation directly in front of the painting. Albus quickly checked to make sure he was well Disillusioned before opening the painting slightly wider and sticking his head out. The first sight to strike him was Aberforth, who was sobbing on the floor looking a good deal dirtier than usual. Albus started to look for the man he had been talking to, but needed only look up and stop. A glowing specter was bent over Aberforth, attempting to console him. Albus knew immediately that this was Albus Dumbledore—the piercing blue eyes matched Aberforth's so well they could only be brothers. But Albus hadn't expected Aberforth to use the stone, especially not after the spectacular rant he went on when he discovered Albus had it. Albus had seen enough. He no longer wanted to steal the stone; it seemed too important to Aberforth. He began to retreat into the tunnel, trying to pull his head inside the painting without causing it to move too much. Out of nowhere, a sharp pain stabbed up his knee, and Albus jerked his head and leaned forward, trying to keep his weight off it. His display, however, attracted the attention of the specter, who looked up at him and… wait. Winked? Albus Dumbledore mouthed, "Go," and Albus Potter smiled gratefully and retreated into the tunnel. Before retreating into Hogwarts, Albus looked down to see what had caused his knee so much pain. Blood spattered the ground where he had just knelt, but seeing nothing of his leg, Albus realized that he was still Disillusioned. How had the specter seen him? Could those resurrected see through Disillusionment Charms? Well apparently they could. He'd have to warn Rose about this. And anyway. There was no way they were doing this heist, not after what he'd just seen.

Albus ran out of the tunnel, limping slightly (he suspected the rock that cut him was still embedded in his knee). He barreled out of the portrait and straight into a now-visible Rose.

"The charm wore off just a minute ago," she explained, but Albus wasn't listening. He explained quickly what he had seen and heard while Rose lifted the Disillusionment from him. "What does this mean, then? Are we still going to try and steal it?"

"No," Albus replied forcibly. "Not tonight, not any other night. I'll find some other way to figure out who this man is, but I am _not_ going to steal that stone." Rose looked slightly defeated, but said nothing as they walked silently back to Gryffindor Tower.


	8. Chapter 8

****A/N: Thank you all for reading and getting this far! Special thanks to everyone who reviewed—your comments were all lovely. Extra special thanks to MySilverWings18, who inspired this chapter as well as appointed the new Hogwarts headmaster. Here's the next chapter—hope you all enjoy!**

Chapter Eight: The Worst Day Yet

Albus woke the next morning to a particularly loud snore from one of his dorm mates. It was still dark outside, meaning that there was no way he was even thinking about getting up. Rolling over and attempting to go back to sleep, another spectacular snore startled him, this time causing a more profound reaction. Albus had jumped and, with a sharp intake of air, fallen straight out of his bed, landing in a neither comfortable nor flattering position. Well he was up now. Albus threw his bed sheets back onto his bed and trudged downstairs, still sporting his pajamas. The common room was empty when he reached it—this must have been really early. He thought about heading back upstairs to sleep, but the promise of a loudly snoring roommate seemed so much less inviting than the warm fire and cozy armchair that lay before him. He curled up in the chair, thoroughly enjoying the silence. Rose would surely wake him when she woke up, and they could go down to breakfast together. With that though, he fell asleep.

"Albus, wake up. Come on, Al! Get up!" Rose's voice startled him as he was forced into a sitting position.

"Time for breakfast already?" he slurred.

"No, Al, you actually slept through breakfast," Rose said, sounding slightly apologetic. What? Breakfast was over? He was wide awake now. "Come on, now, get ready. And hurry—we're late enough as it is."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Albus asked.

"I thought I'd be nice to you for once and let you sleep! Come on, then, get dressed! Transfiguration's already started!" Rose nearly shouted. He could tell it was killing her to be missing any part of a class. He ran up to his dormitory and dressed more quickly than he ever had in his life, flying down the stairs and out the portrait with Rose at his heels. They both ran all the way to the classroom, which was thankfully close to Gryffindor Tower, entering at the exact moment Professor Abbot announced to the class to begin the lesson.

"Nice of you to join us, Mister Potter, Miss Weasley," Professor Abbot said loudly. Nearly the whole class turned to stare at the two unlucky students who'd arrived late. All the Gryffindors groaned—Professor Abbot detested lateness and took away excessive points from anyone who had the misfortune of being tardy. "I'm afraid that's a point a minute for both of you, and ten minutes each, that's twenty points from Gryffindor." Rose looked like she might cry.

Albus avoided the angry glares of his classmates and ducked into the nearest seat, immediately trying to pick up what the class had been doing. Ah, turning hedgehogs into pincushions. He read the heading on the board as well as the incantation below as he walked up to the front of the room to retrieve a hedgehog. Sitting down again, Albus recited the spell while thinking hard on what he imagined his pincushion to look like. As soon as he had finished speaking, the animal began to morph, changing color, texture, and mobility as its feet quickly shrank into tiny supports for the small pillow-like object. The majority of the spikes were replaced by pins, which lied somewhat flat. Well that wasn't exactly how he'd pictured it, but still. He'd just done the spell right on the first try. Albus reached for his pincushion—now was his chance to show Professor Abbot his work and possibly regain some of the points he'd just lost. His fingers closed around the former hedgehog, and it was all he could do to keep from letting out a yell. Yanking his hand away, Albus saw a multitude of tiny pinpricks across his hand; the pincushion had raised all the pins, somehow managing to make the pointy sides face out. He reached for it again, but the cushion was ready this time. It avoided his hand and scuttled across his desk on its stubby supports, leaping down and scurrying out the door. Albus thought about running after it, but would the commotion that caused only lose him more points? It wasn't worth the risk. Before he could ask for another hedgehog, Professor Abbot called out to the class.

"All right everyone, grab your pincushions and line up so I can grade you on your work." Albus reluctantly got in line empty handed. "Well, Mister Potter? Where is your pincushion?" Albus looked up, not realizing he had made it to the front of the line.

"It, erm, ran away," he replied lamely.

"I'm sorry, but I can't count a rogue pincushion as a grade, Potter. I'm afraid I have to give you a zero for this lesson." Albus sulked the whole way to the dungeons for Potions. Not only had he just lost points for his house, but he had also just received the worst Transfiguration grade of his life. Today was not going to be fun.

Albus jumped away from his now boiling cauldron. The directions on the board told him that the potion was supposed to be simmering lightly at this phase—why, then, was his bubbling fiercely? He looked at Rose, silently begging her to help him fix this, but she only looked at him as if to say,_ You got yourself into this mess, don't expect me to get you out._ He had to do something! His potion was now making a shrill hissing noise as dark green liquid splashed out the side of his cauldron. Just as he reached to turn the heat off his dangerous potion, the bottom of his cauldron completely corroded, leaving his potion to slop directly onto the open flame. _BOOM._ A mushroom cloud of foul-smelling smoke erupted, and the whole class was covered suddenly in slimy, green, goop.

"AHHHG! Get it off! It's burning!" Several screams filled the classroom as people realized that the potion was melting whatever it made contact with. Professor Wills flailed about, trying to extract his wand from his goo-covered desk. Apparently finding it, he promptly waved his wand and removed all evidence of the goo.

"Anyone who was burned, line up by the door!" Professor Wills called, suddenly realizing that many of his students were now injured. Most of the class lined up, and the frail professor lead them up to the hospital wing. Nearly all of the students were treated and dismissed immediately, but Albus, who had received the worst of the goop, was forced to stay for an extra fifteen minutes while Madame Pomfrey treated the burns on his face and neck.

Albus arrived late to his next class with a foul smelling ointment covering most of his face. _At least nothing could explode during History of Magic,_ he thought. And nothing did—he managed to pass through a class unscathed.

Lunch was bad, as someone (he suspected James, who was constantly looking over at him and snickering) had charmed his fork to avoid his food at all costs. He eventually managed to eat a sandwich (which he ate with his hands), but still left the Great Hall hungry. He had hardly eaten anything all day, as he had slept through breakfast.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was thankfully the best class of the day; Albus was incredibly thankful that he had managed to do everything in this class correctly, as it would be embarrassing to say that History of Magic was his best class that day. Albus was the first to answer correctly on how to escape from the clutches of a grindelow, earning five points back for his house.

Charms could have been a lot worse. They had been practicing Wingardium Leviosa for about two classes, and more than half the class could now successfully shoot their feather into the air. Unfortunately for him, Albus was not among those students (though Rose was, of course). He was so frustrated that he still couldn't perform the charm correctly that it barricaded him for the whole lesson—by the time class had ended, Albus still had a very immobile, very limp feather on his desk, earning his third zero of the day. At least he hadn't ended up like Brendan Finnegan, who managed to set fire to his feather and desk (_Maybe this happy skill ran in the family,_ Albus thought—he had heard about Seamus's own dilemmas with this spell).

Dinner went by too quickly for Albus, who was trying to make up for two missed meals in one sitting. He was one of the last to leave the Great Hall, finally feeling full for the first time that day. He walked up to Gryffindor Tower alone, taking a back way as a shortcut. All he wanted to do now was fall into bed—it had been a long and hard day. He trudged up the stairs in his exhausted stupor, his feet feeling increasingly heavy. Wait, how were they this heavy? And why had he stopped moving? Albus looked down to see his foot sunken into the stair: how had he forgotten to jump the trick stair? He had known it was coming… Crap. He was stuck. The corridors both above and below him were very empty—why did he take a back way? No one was here to help. He could try yelling, but the castle was so huge he doubted anyone would hear. Could this day get any worse? As if in answer to his thought, a shrill voice rose up from behind.

"Ickle firstie out of bed?" said one trouble-making Peeves with a bout of maniacal laughter.

"It's not past curfew, Peeves," Albus replied, exasperated.

"Oh but it will be! And you'll still be here, your foot stuck in the stair. Oh, tell Filch I will," Peeves laughed, blowing a raspberry. Peeves bobbed away, leaving Albus stuck in the stair.

"Wait, Peeves! Why can't you just tell a student to help me?" Albus called up the stairs. Out of nowhere, a large trophy soared toward his head, forcing him to duck (which hurt his stuck leg a surprising amount).

"Me? Help an ickle firstie?" Peeves cackled at his apparently funny statement as he continued to throw trophies, chalk, and board erasers at Albus.

"Please, Peeves?" Albus begged as he was pelted in the face by an eraser.

"Well since you said please," Peeves said thoughtfully, "NO!" The poltergeist dropped the remainder of his ammunition with a spectacular _BANG _and bobbed from the corridor, beginning another round of laughter. "Off to tell Filch, I am!" he announced loudly.

_Great,_ Albus thought, _I get caught out of bed for the second time! Of course this happens to me._ Footsteps echoed in the corridor, leaving Albus to hope for a stroke of luck: _Let that not be Filch,_ he begged silently. But on a day like the one he just had, who was he to expect a sudden turnaround?

"Out of bed again, Potter?" growled a particularly disgruntled caretaker.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: The Headmaster's Office

"Second time outta bed, eh? I'll teach yeh not to wander at night, off to the headmaster's, we are. He'll show you," Filch growled menacingly, trying desperately to yank Albus from the stair. Albus had seen the headmaster during meals—a young (a little too young to be headmaster, if you asked Albus) man with straw-colored hair and a seemingly eternal smile—and he seemed nice enough. But if Filch liked him, that probably wasn't good. The caretaker finally managed to free Albus's leg and, giving him no time to run, grabbed the back of his robes, marching him along the corridor. After a seemingly endless walk down many staircases and down long corridors, Filch wrenched Albus to a sudden halt in front of a large stone gargoyle. After Filch had whispered a password (Albus figured he probably wasn't supposed to know it), the stone creature jumped aside to reveal a large spiral staircase. The caretaker dragged him up the stairs and to a large wooden door, which opened before he could knock. The headmaster had been expecting them.

"Leave him with me, Filch," said the man in an almost bored voice. Filch gave a nasty, mutilated smirk and bowed low, exiting the room. Albus sat down hesitantly in a stiff wooden chair and waited for the headmaster to address him. He glanced around, taking in his surroundings—pictures covered almost every available surface, most of the figures moving, but Albus recognized some non-moving pictures as Muggle photographs. Pictures of what appeared to be the man's family and friends filled the large mahogany desk, while portraits of previous Hogwarts headmasters (all sleeping peacefully) lined the wall behind the headmaster. One particular photo on the desk caught his eye: a handsome man was struggling to pull a boy into the frame and failing miserably. The picture appeared to be signed; _Gilderoy Lockhart,_ the scrawling signature read. Just as Albus was struggling to place the name, the man managed to yank the boy into the frame for a mere second. It had been enough, though, and Albus recognized just who the boy was.

"Professor," he began, realizing he did not know the headmaster's name, "is the boy in the photograph—"

"Harry Potter?" the headmaster interjected. "Why yes, it is. My brother looked up to him as a hero. They went to school together, you know. This isn't the only picture he had of him, but it was all I could find. I couldn't bring myself to throw any of his pictures away after his death," the man paused. "He died a hero's death, he did." Whoa, where did that come from? Albus felt as if he had just intruded on an extremely personal conversation—was this how the headmaster greeted all first years who were supposed to be being punished? Albus looked up from the frame and realized the man was gaping at him. "Albus Potter," the professor said with a smile, "Of course! I've been hoping to meet you for some time now! It's been quite difficult, I might add, you're not the trouble maker James is." The man stood up and began to shake his hand. "Professor Denis Creevey," he introduced himself. Albus's surprise showed clearly in his face, and, picking up on the boy's odd expression, the headmaster queried.

"It's just that Filch seems to respect you, though he really only respects people who approve of punishment," Albus replied softly, looking at his hands. He feared his answer would bring out the side of the headmaster that Filch respected so much, but the Professor Creevey only laughed. And laughed. Tears were spilling out of the headmaster's eyes before he finally realized that Albus was still staring at him with confusion.

"Oh," Creevey said, deciding to clue Albus in on his laughter. "I know much about Mr. Filch's fascination with physical punishment, especially having been here during the time of Umbridge and the Carrows. So the first time Mr. Filch brought a student to me, I knew this would be sort of a test—I told the student to pretend to cry loudly while I 'ranted' for a good five minutes, until I heard Filch limp away satisfied."

"But what happened to the student?" Albus asked, a new respect forming towards the headmaster.

"Oh nothing, he was quite the actor. I congratulated him and told him to get back to bed," the professor chuckled, then continued, "which is what you should do as well." Albus sighed with relief, glad that his punishment would be lenient. He would not allow himself to think that he had gotten away clean until he was back in his bed. "Really, you should go. I know what it's like to be a first year, and I certainly don't feel like giving out punishments." Albus looked up again, ready to thank the headmaster whole-heartedly, when another sight caught his eye—most of the headmasters had woken up and were now staring at him intently. Albus immediately recognized Dumbledore, who even in painting form gave him a light wink. His gaze drifted, though, to the portrait just next to Dumbledore's. Recognition flooded through him; he had seen the face before. Albus gasped audibly: he knew where he had seen the man, for how could he forget such a gruesome dream?

"Sir," Albus stammered, "who is that man in the painting?"

"That's Albus Dumbledore! Surely you of all people would know that," the headmaster replied loftily.

"No, not him," Albus felt exasperated. "The other man, on his left."

"Oh! Surely you know him, too?" Professor Creevey asked. Albus simply shook his head. "My, my, boy. That's Severus Snape. Surely you'd know your own namesake, wouldn't you? I mean, even if it is only your middle name."Albus thought over his father's words. _Albus Severus, you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin, and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew._ Albus snapped out of his thought, finally realizing that Professor Creevey had continued talking. "Brave man, he was. Shame no one realized that during his lifetime." Albus stood up quickly, knocking his chair over. He had to find Rose and tell her what he'd discovered. "Right, right, you really should be off to bed. Take care and don't let Filch catch you on the way back," the headmaster laughed. Albus nodded and ran out the door.

Rose wasn't in the common room when he returned, though it was surprisingly full for midnight in the middle of the week. Without bothering to think, Albus ran up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, almost reaching the top when… wait, how was he sliding backwards? He looked down franticly to see that the stairs had now formed a steep slide, and he was now slipping backwards. Struggling to change the direction of his momentum, Albus groped for the now vanished handrail as he fell over backwards and slid to the bottom. Several girls giggled, while a group of boys helped him up and patted his back sympathetically.

"Bloody shame, mate. We know what that's like, most of us having done it ourselves," one of the boys commiserated, earning a round of sheepish looks and grunts of agreement. Girls were now flooding out of their dormitories to see who'd had the misfortune of trying to climb their staircase. A loud groan broke through the sea of laughter and snickers.

"Albus, you didn't honestly climb the staircase, did you?" Rose whined from the top of the slide. She sighed heavily as she slid gracefully down the slide to greet her cousin. "Boys," she muttered, forcing another embarrassed grin from Albus before he finally remembered what he had to tell her.

"Rose, I figured out who the man in my dreams is," he said quickly, noticing her expression change from agitated to attentive and somewhat excited. Without waiting for her verbal prompt, Albus continued, "He's Severus Snape. He was headmaster here during the Battle, and I'm pretty sure my father named me after him—well and Dumbledore, of course."

"Al, I can't tell you what this means, or why you're having dreams about a man you're named after but otherwise have no connection to. What I can tell you is that I think you need to talk to someone about this. Someone who knows about how this man really died, someone who was there or at least at the Battle that night," Rose replied cautiously.

"And who would that be? It's not like I can write all this in a letter to my dad," Albus scoffed. Rose looked pointedly at him, waiting for him to realize what she'd already figured out. When no such moment occurred, she sighed and spoke again.

"I know you may not want to, Al, but we really don't have another option if we want any answers at all." She breathed deeply before continuing. "We need to talk to Aberforth."

****A/N: Well? What do you think? Has anyone noticed my fondness of cliffhangers? Once again, thanks to MSW18 for her wonderful recommendation on the appointment of Denis Creevey as Hogwarts Headmaster. Thank you all for making it this far! A&A will regrettably be drawing to a conclusion sometime in the next few chapters, but I have a bunch of ideas for many more HP fanfics, so check back soon! As always, review if you've got time and a big thank you to all those who've taken the time to already. Love you all and keep reading!****


	10. Chapter 10

****A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to update; school has been hectic, practices have been early (and exhausting), and I've had a rather bad case of writer's block. Without further ado, here's the next chapter of A&A! Hope you enjoy, and, as always, please review!****

Chapter Ten: History Revealed

Even though Rose had been right in saying that he most definitely did not want to talk to Aberforth (more out of self preservation than anything), Albus had to admit that she was also right in saying that he was their only hope for immediate answers. Despite the holidays being only about a month away, Albus doubted he could wait that long for a snippet of information about his namesake— that is assuming his father would give him any.

So the cousins set out for the portrait again, with the least amount of preparation yet, and not even bothering to Disillusion themselves (they were quite sure that they wouldn't come across Filch, having earlier dropped rather loud hints to Peeves that bubotuber pus would be a horrid thing to spray all over the seventh floor trophy room). Arianna wasn't there to greet them when the portrait had protruded from the wall, but Albus and Rose continued on—they would get answers tonight. The tunnel seemed shorter than usual, and in no time, both cousins had emerged into the grungy bar.

"I knew you would both be back. My brother said you seemed the curious type. I expect you have more questions." Aberforth's tired voice rose gently from his chair behind the bar. Albus noticed that piercing blue eyes had regained the glazed look they'd had when he first stumbled out of the tunnel. "I don't know if you'll get the answers you're looking for here," Aberforth continued, holding out his hand to give something to Albus. Albus opened his hand tentatively and allowed the old man to drop something into his palm—no, not just something, many somethings. Many tiny pieces of something… Albus knew what these pieces were part of; he recognized the glossy shards easily.

"The Resurrection Stone?" Albus asked, crestfallen. Aberforth nodded, his blue eyes staring blankly into space.

"My brother and I thought it would be best," Aberforth began, not looking up, "that no man should ever be tempted by the Hallows again. Especially not this one—it only brings more pain than good. Men who spend their lives looking for something that shouldn't be found often lose themselves on the way." Albus gaped, still reeling at the fact that he could never talk to the man he was named after. Or his Uncle Fred. Or what about the people he hadn't met? All the things he could have done with that stone!

"Well it's you we came to talk to anyway," Rose piped up. Albus jumped; he had forgotten she was there. _That may be true for her,_ he thought,_ but I was counting on actually talking to Severus Snape himself._ Aberforth, too, seemed surprised at this statement, and his blue eyes refocused, immediately intent on Rose, who was sitting somewhat in the shadows. Albus saw a chance to catch the old man off guard even further, and he expanded on Rose's words.

"We wanted to ask you about Severus Snape," he said strongly, staring down those blue eyes unblinkingly. Aberforth opened his mouth to speak, but Albus cut him off. "More specifically, we want to know how he died."

There was a long pause before Aberforth managed to reply. "He was killed by Voldemort," he said softly. "Or more specifically, Nagini."

"Nagini? What is that, like a person? Or a curse?" Albus questioned rapidly. Aberforth shook his head slowly.

"No. Nagini was a snake. Severus Snape died a slow and painful death." It became apparent that Aberforth had been expecting more of a reaction, but Albus already knew how the man had died—this was only for confirmation. The old man gave a quizzical look and stopped, clearly restraining himself from launching into another long monologue.

"But who exactly was he?" Albus prompted. There was no way he was going to let the man end there.

"Headmaster, Potions Master, double-agent for the Order of the Phoenix—he had many titles and lives to lead. All for a noble cause, mind you; this wasn't something he did for fun." Albus still wasn't satisfied, though he wasn't quite sure of the exact fact he wanted to know. Forming another somewhat general question in his mind, he tried again.

"But—" he hadn't gotten far before the old man cut him off.

"Perhaps it would be best if you saved the more morbid questions for your father. It was him who was there, not me," Aberforth stated seemingly uninterestedly, though Albus noticed that the glazed look was now entirely gone, and a familiar twinkle had appeared in those blue eyes. This was something that Aberforth seemed to know Albus would be surprised at, as he grinned at the open-mouthed boy.

His father had seen this? He had seen him die? Where would he have been in the dream, though? Wouldn't he have seen him? Questions fired rapidly inside his head, and though he longed to ask them to Aberforth, Albus feared the man's potential reaction to his dream—this mysterious connection could indeed prove dangerous. Albus then returned his attention back to the remnants of the stone in his hand. Noticing his gaze, the old man smiled sympathetically. "You will see them again, the people you talked to. It will most likely take a while, but you will see them." Albus nodded, though he hadn't been thinking about the people he had seen in the stone, but rather of ways to repair it. "Repairing it won't work either," Aberforth continued, as if reading his thoughts. "The only wand that would be powerful enough would be the elder wand, and its last known possessor was your father, who I am nearly sure disposed of it." Of course. He should have been prepared for that, but Albus could not stop his hopes from dipping further yet again.

"Al, have you seen the time?" Rose spoke up. Albus jumped again—how did he keep forgetting she was there? "We really should be going. Thank you for everything, Ab," she said, smiling kindly at the man with an air that was quite lighter than that of the conversation they had just had. The old man returned her smile and stood, holding the portrait open for them as they left.

"Oh and Albus," Aberforth said before shutting the portrait behind them, "I am truly sorry about my outburst. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's all right," Albus smiled at his friend. "I understand."

"Do you?" the old man grinned and sealed the portrait shut. _Well what was that supposed to mean?_ He thought about asking Rose, but wondered if she would either think him dumb for not figuring it out on his own or not know herself, dragging him into a non-stop research frenzy and forcing him to rack his brains for any possible references Aberforth might have made. Both were outcomes Albus was sure he didn't want, so he kept his silence.

Though his mind still reeled from the conversation he'd just had, Albus was convinced of one thing: he wanted answers, and the sooner the better. But patience was necessary; the best chance of getting any information from his father would be in person, which meant waiting until the holidays. He was determined, though, to enjoy his last couple weeks of term—he would put this out of his mind until the timing was right. His only hope was that he would know when that was.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: Forgetting

Albus spent the next few days in a daze, constantly imagining the conversation he was hoping to have with his father. He hardly noticed Rose growing jittery and excited, though he did notice that she had stopped hounding him about homework. Without her carping, however, his steady stream of homework had quickly grown into a mountain, leaving him trapped inside Gryffindor common room on a Saturday afternoon.

"Al." The harsh whisper broke his concentration away from a particularly agonizing Potions essay, and he looked up frantically.

"What do you want, James?" Albus sighed. When had James arrived in the empty common room? And why was he here when he could be enjoying the possible last day of good weather before the winter?

"I need a favor," James said with a considerable amount of seriousness. Albus groaned and placed his essay on the table; James's favors usually required his full attention and a lot of work.

"What is it?" he asked, though it sounded more like a statement. He thought the implied _this time_ came across pretty clearly without actually speaking it.

"I need to put my name on your birthday present for Rose." Albus's eyes grew wide—he had forgotten about his cousin's birthday too. His mind flashed back to the last time James forgot Rose's birthday (saying that that hadn't ended well was more than an understatement), and the pained look on James's face told him that his brother was remembering the feeling of having his underwear spontaneously combust. "Don't tell me you forgot too!" James whined. Albus opened his mouth to argue his reasons, but James had already cut him off. "It's okay; we'll just go to Hogsmeade and buy her one."

"James, the next visiting weekend isn't for a month! And it's not like we're allowed to go!" Albus protested, amazed at his brother's stupidity.

"Ha!" James looked amused, and a mocking gleam entered his hazel eyes. "Just because we're not allowed, doesn't mean we're not capable of going," his brother mused. "And there are ways of getting there without even leaving the castle." James continued smiling mischievously as he began rummaging in his robe pockets, finally pulling out an old and folded piece of parchment.

"What is that?" Albus inquired, scowling at the apparently invaluable, mischief-making parchment.

"It's a map," James said as he smirked.

"But what does it show?" James muttered something as he pointed his wand at the map, causing Albus to stare in amazement as the previously blank page blossomed delicate ink lines that turned and twisted in what seemed to be walls and… wait… names? Moving footsteps trailed by names bustled along the map. Albus's eyes suddenly caught a familiar name—his own, located right next to his brother's in a room labeled… _Gryffindor Common Room?_ Albus could hardly believe what he read. "Is this Hogwarts?" he asked, incredulous. "And are these the actual people?" James nodded eagerly in response. "But where did you get this? It's not like they handed them out to all new students…"

"Nicked it," James shrugged, then anticipated Albus's next question and continued, "from Dad's office. Doubt he even realized it's gone," he hurriedly covered. Albus's mouth gaped, though he closed it as he figured he would've stolen something this good had he come across it. "Anyways, see these passages? A few are blocked off, but most lead straight into Hogsmeade."

"Okay, then let's go," Albus sighed. They might as well get this over with.

"Not now! It's broad daylight! What if someone saw us go through the passages? And don't you think the shopkeepers would get suspicious of two school-age boys in Hogsmeade?" James protested loudly.

_Well James had obviously thought this plan through before he asked for help_, Albus thought sarcastically as he rolled his eyes. "I can Disillusion us, and we can just leave money for the shopkeeper for whatever thing we decide to get for Rose," he said easily, like it was the most obvious plan in the world. Apparently it wasn't, as James's mouth promptly dropped open.

"You can do a Disillusionment Charm?" his older brother asked in disbelief.

"You can't?" Albus mocked his older brother for what was possibly the first time in his life. James scowled, then gaped in awe for a second time as Albus demonstrated his charm work. "Now stand up, it works better that way. And try not to move." James did as he was told, gasping as he watched his body disappear beneath him. "Now come on, we've got shopping to do," Albus said with a grin, confident that even though James couldn't see him, he had sensed it was there. He watched as the map went blank and folded in on itself, rising up through the air as his brother picked it up and then turning invisible as James tucked it inside his robes.

"We'll use the Room of Requirement passage," James said as he swung open the portrait, allowing the brothers to step into the deserted corridor. Albus chuckled to himself as he heard the Fat Lady mutter something about getting Filch to fix her hinges.

Albus thought he recognized the route they took, letting out an audible gasp when James told him to stop directly in front of the spot where Arianna's portrait would usually appear. He couldn't help but wonder how James was phrasing his need as a door emerged from the wall rather than the familiar portrait Albus had come to expect. The door swung open and Albus heard his brother's footsteps echo from inside the room.

"Come on, Al!" James's voice called. Albus took a deep breath as he stepped inside the spacious room. Magazines were stacked along every available surface, often bearing names from popular Hogsmeade shops, though Albus recognized girly magazines like _Witch Weekly_ and_ Which Witch?_, leaving him to wonder even more what James had thought he needed in order for all this to appear. Was his brother getting soft? The sound of a page ripping snapped Albus out of his thoughts. "I know what we're getting Rose," James said excitedly, waving the page about so it looked like a particularly violent gust of wind had caught only the one page. "Now come on!" James continued as he toppled a particularly large stack of magazines to finally reveal the portrait Albus knew so well.

"Who's there?" Aberforth's voice hardly sounded worried to Albus, but he thought it only polite that he should answer, especially after rudely barging into the bar through a painting.

"It's me, Ab," he said. "It's Albus." The old man smiled and continued cleaning the ever dirty bar glasses.

"I was wondering when you'd figure out that his bar was in Hogsmeade," he jested. "Go on then, I won't tell." Albus smiled to himself, immensely glad that their friendship had been repaired, and walked through the bar doors and into the surprisingly busy street. Albus felt James grab the back of his robes and pull him into a familiar and extremely crowded shop—Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? What were they going to buy for Rose in here? Rose hated pranks, and it's not like she didn't already have nearly every joke from the shop anyways…

"Uncle George," James whispered. Albus worked to suppress a laugh as he watched his favorite uncle whip his head around; James didn't attempt to quiet himself, and he laughed openly. George's eyes searched frantically for the source of the laughter.

"Very funny, James, I know it's you there," George said, honing in on the approximate area James was standing and waving his wand lazily, lifting the charm and rendering James visible. "Nice try, but last time I checked,_ I_ am the joke master, not you." The smile lines around his face crinkled as he grinned mischievously at his young nephew. Seeing that James had already blown their cover, Albus decided to make his presence known as well and lifted his own Disillusionment Charm. George started for a second time. "Ah! Albus! I was not expecting that!" their uncle shouted, causing nearly every eye in the shop to turn towards him. "Maybe I did underestimate you two—you're better jokesters than I thought!" Albus distinctly heard the tone of pride in the last statement.

"We're not here for jokes, Uncle George," James began.

"Yea, we're here for Rose!" Albus finished.

"Forgot a birthday present?" George asked knowingly. Both boys glanced at the ground and nodded.

"I finally thought of the only thing she hasn't got," James piped up, "but we wanted to make it extra special. So that no one else would have it, you know?"

"So what is this gift Rose needs so much?" George said with mock interest.

"A customized Pygmy Puff!" James exclaimed happily. Albus was shocked at James's surprisingly good gift—Rose collected the fluffy creatures and had one in every color, but Albus doubted she had a customized one… Uncle George grinned also, reaching over to mess up James's already messy hair.

"That is a good idea, Jamesie," their uncle said. "What should it look like?" James's face dropped—apparently he hadn't gotten that far in planning the gift.

"It should change colors. You know, like a Metamorphagus, but for Pygmy Puffs," Albus contributed.

"Like a mood ring!" James continued excitedly. George laughed loudly at this, then reached over into the glass container where the balls of fur were held and muttered a rather long incantation.

"There you are, boys," Uncle George said. "One mood ring Pygmy Puff. Now get out of here before people at Hogwarts realize you've gone." They nodded simultaneously, James cradling the fur ball while Albus had already begun the Disillusionment Charm. "Impressive, Al!" George praised as the boys ran out the door and down the street.

"Happy birthday, Rosie!" James and Albus exclaimed together as they burst into the common room (the map had already told them where to find her). James thrust a tiny cage complete with a festive pink bow, courtesy of the Room of Requirement, at his cousin, who instantly dropped the book –was it in French? Albus couldn't tell— that she had been pouring over only a moment ago.

"Aw, thanks, guys! I haven't seen you two all day—I'd assumed you'd forgotten!" Rose beamed up at them.

"We wouldn't forget you, Rosie!" James cheered guiltlessly. Albus just shoved his hands into his pockets. "Do you like your gift?" At the mention of the cage now resting in her lap, Rose glanced down to examine her prize more closely.

"A Pygmy Puff? How sweet; I collect them, you know," Rose said graciously. "It can be friends with my other yellow one." The canary yellow ball of fur glanced around in contentment, channeling Rose's happiness.

"That's the thing," Albus grinned, shoving his hands farther down in his pockets. "It's not always yellow." He reached for the tiny thing, and, upon contact with his skin, the puff turned a deep maroon. "Pride," he explained, "that I got you something nice. It's a mood Pygmy—custom charmed—that'll change colors to match your mood." Rose stared up at the brothers in amazement.

"This is amazing! I mean really, how did you two ever come up with such an amazing gift?" Rose didn't notice as Albus snuck a grin directed at a very smug looking James.

"Long, hard thought, dear cousin," James said dramatically.

"What are you going to name it?" Albus asked, only half-interested, having just noticed blood streaming from his right knuckle.

"I think I'll name her Camille. She's the heroine in the story I'm reading. It's in French; have you read French literature? It's really quite interesting…" Rose carried on, but Albus wasn't listening. The shards from the stone—still pocketed from a week prior—would have been sharp enough to break his skin. Albus reached his hand into his pocket again, though more slowly and carefully, and felt around for the shards. His hand closed around a cold, very intact-feeling stone; pulling it from his pocket, Albus examined a repaired and very whole Resurrection Stone. This stone never ceased to amaze him.

****A/N: Another chapter finished! And in good time, too—come on, I get credit for a prompt update (and it's the longest one yet)! This story has almost reached the end, as I'm pretty sure Chapter Thirteen will be the finale. Thank you guys for sticking with it for this long, I love you all. As soon as this story ends, I plan to begin another: this one will be Marauders era! I'm taking a vote for Remus or Sirius to be the main character, so let me know which one you'd like to see. Review if you enjoyed (or even if you didn't—I'm really not picky) and feel free to message me with any ideas, requests, or if you need advice ('cause I'm pretty good at that stuff). Love you guys (yes, I know, again) and keep reading!****


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve: Heading Home

The next week seemed to pass in no time at all, and before he knew it, Albus was on the Hogwarts Express headed home for Christmas. Though he had wanted to share a compartment with James and their cousin Fred, the pair was astoundingly popular, leaving Albus to share with Rose and her giggling friends.

"So Albus," began one of the girls. She was the only one who seemed to be able to stop giggling long enough to form coherent words, and Albus quickly decided she wasn't as bad as the others.

"What's it like to be famous?" another girl cut off the first, who flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder indignantly, though she too leaned in closer as if to hear his answer better. Albus blushed violently, and Rose smirked as she leaned back and closed her eyes, pretending to sleep. How could she leave him alone in this?

"Uh," he started, "it's, uh, you know—I mean it's my parents who are famous, not me."

"But you are!" another girl shrieked. "There was an article about you in _Witch Weekly_!" She rummaged around in her bag for a very worn and over-read looking magazine, which she proceeded to read aloud. "Albus Potter, age eleven, entered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry already a pre-teen heart throb. Son of the famous Harry Potter, young Albus shows the famous Potter aptitude for trouble-making and considerable magical talent. 'Albus seems really nice,' said a fellow classmate of her friend. 'He hardly talks to anyone except his family though.' Albus Potter: Arrogant? Or shy? In answer, we spoke—"

"Hey!" Albus cut her off. "I am not arrogant!"

"Shy then?" the girl pressed.

"No! Put that blasted thing away before you read any more lies about me!"

"Aw! We were just getting to _my_ quote!" the girl whined. Albus didn't think he could take any more—were girls always this annoying? Standing abruptly, he stalked out of the compartment.

"Now look what you've done! You've gone and offended him!" he heard the first girl chastise. He smiled to himself as he searched for an empty compartment. "Albus! Wait up!" He turned in surprise as the dark haired girl came flying out of the space he had just exited. Even she looked surprised at her boldness, promptly turning away and muttering an apology. Now it was his turn to chase after her.

"Wait—don't go—I was just looking for an empty compartment. You can join me, I mean if you want to…" he trailed off. She beamed up at him and nodded slightly. "Well come on then, I think there's one up here."

They slid into a dark compartment that had seemed very empty right up until the moment Albus found the light switch. The girl gasped audibly, her hand flying upward to cover her mouth. "Go and find a teacher," Albus paused suddenly, realizing he didn't know the girl's name.

"Oh! Sorry, I'm Quinn, I forgot I didn't—" She had begun to ramble, but with a pointed look from Albus, stood and ran for a teacher.

"Scorpius?" Albus spoke quietly too the limp form slumped on the floor. Trying desperately not to panic, Albus shook the unconscious boy gently. "Are you alive?" No, that was a stupid question. "Can you hear me?" There. That question could at least have a promising answer. The boy's eyes suddenly flew open as he threw his hands up in front of his face, shrinking farther into the corner. "I'm not going to hit you! Who did this to you?" As much as he would like to congratulate whoever retaliated (after all, he had said some nasty things to his cousin), Albus couldn't help but pity the now helpless Slytherin.

"I didn't see their faces… Only heard them say 'How do you like Mudbloods now?' But I never called them that! The only person I've ever called that was Rose Weasley, and I didn't mean to, I swear! It sort of slipped out—you'd understand if you heard my grandfather talk!" As abruptly as he'd awoken, Scorpius grabbed Albus and began sobbing on his shoulder. _He obviously doesn't know who he's talking to,_ Albus thought. _Maybe he hit his head or something_…

"I couldn't find a teacher! Only a prefect and the trolley lady!" Quinn burst through the doors to the compartment flanked by Victoire and a plump, grey-haired witch. Of course—how could he not have remembered that most teachers stayed behind for the holidays? Few (if any at all) would be on the Express.

"Albus, is he okay?" Victoire asked concernedly. Albus nodded frightfully, slowly prying the sobbing boy from his robes. Victoire then crouched next to Scorpius (who incidentally ceased crying the instant she came into view) and began to ask him questions. After healing most of his injuries—mostly bruises and cuts—Victoire stood and spoke to Albus and Quinn. "He's fine for now. Stay with him, though, because I think he's a little distraught. Come get me if he does anything strange." She glanced fretfully over at the pale boy, who now held his head in his hands and was muttering to himself. She then turned and hugged Albus briefly before saying, "I'll see you for Christmas, little cousin. Take care." Victoire left the compartment suddenly, with a small wave to Quinn and one last glance at Scorpius.

"I-is there a-anything I can d-do?" the trolley witch stuttered, wringing her hands nervously. Witnessing first-years get attacked was obviously not in her job description. Albus smiled kindly and shook his head.

"Actually, I think Scorpius here needs some chocolate," Quinn piped up. "And we wouldn't mind a snack ourselves, would we, Albus?" Ah. Now he saw why Quinn had fetched the trolley lady; he was beginning to like her more and more. The plump witch nodded and disappeared, returning a moment later with her arms laden with goodies.

"Dearies, I do hope it's enough. After all you've been through today! And to think—the only thing I can offer you poor children is snacks…"she spoke worriedly. Albus smiled graciously as he took the treats from the witch, both he and Quinn thanking her profusely. When she had finally gone, all three students turned to the massive pile of sweets that lay before them.

"Thank you for helping me," Scorpius said as he turned to face Albus, finally realizing just who his savior had been. "You really didn't have to, especially after I called your cousin that," he continued with his eyes trained on his hands.

"I wouldn't have left you there," Albus said quietly.

"Albus, I'm so sorry—"

"Really, I'm not the one you need to apologize to," Albus began, reaching for a chocolate frog. "But I don't want to be angry with you either: truce?" He held out the chocolate for Scorpius to take.

"Truce," the Slytherin repeated, taking the frog. "And I will apologize, I swear. Just not now, while she's surrounded by all her little friends—it'd mean more to her if I did this one on one."

Albus smiled, glad to trade an enemy for a friend. Quinn suddenly cleared her throat, indicating that she strongly opposed of being forgotten. "Oh, right! Sorry, Quinn. Scorpius, this is my friend Quinn," Albus hastily introduced the two. So the three of them sat, an unlikely trio, and enjoyed each other's company for the rest of the ride to King's Cross.

Because there were some things that you can't share without ending up liking each other, and saving a life and conning a trolley witch was one of them.

****A/N: Yet another quick update! I'm getting good at this (haha). Like my J.K. reference at the end there? Anyone catch on without the hint? (Let me know if you did and receive a virtual cookie! But really, my next note will mention those of you who get cookies haha.) This was sort of a set up for a potential sequel, but I'm not sure if said sequel will get written. I need feedback: yay? Or nay? (For the sequel). Anyways, thanks so much to those of you who reviewed the last chapter—MySilverWings18 and Rani Jashalithie: you guys are my champions! I love you all, and as always, keep reading! (And no MSW, I did not steal this from you.)****


	13. Chapter 13

****A/N: Welcome to the final installment of A&A! (*Sniff, sniff*) I know, I know, you all want more (right?) but I know what I'm going to do about a potential sequel. I have a lot of other story ideas that I want to finish first, so the sequel is currently placed on the end of my queue. So however long it takes me to finish three stories, (one's long but the other two are relatively short, I promise,) that's when I'll start the sequel. Unless, of course, I suddenly get a ridiculous number of people saying, "Yes! Sequel! Now!" (And let's face it, that's obviously not happening) that's how it's gonna go down. Well now that you've read my really long note, I'd like to thank you all so much for making it to the end! You guys are so great! Thanks to Rani Jashalithie, Razeasha (virtual cookies to you!) and Element's Sole Protector (who gets virtual cookies as well), who lovingly reviewed the last chapter! I also want to apologize for the awkward time shifts—I was reading my story back and realized that none of my line breaks showed up on the posts. So sorry about that! Love you all, and for the last time (in this story), KEEP READING! ****

Chapter Twelve: Breaking the Ice

"Albus! It's so good to have you back!" his mother squealed, pulling him in for a tight hug.

"You too, Mum," he choked out, unable to squirm out of her death-grip hug. His father grinned knowingly at him, giving him a wink that meant _enduring this right now will definitely benefit you in the future_. And right now he needed all the help he could get—there was no predicting how his father could react to the questions Albus was preparing to ask. So he behaved himself, immediately beginning to search for the perfect opportunity (probably when his father was in a particularly good mood) to catch his dad alone.

*A&A*

Albus lay awake in bed, entirely sleepless and staring at the ceiling. He regretted not asking his father about his namesakes, but after Lily shattered her dinner plate (with "accidental" magic) while protesting having to clean up, Albus thought that he would wait for his father's foul mood to blow over. Footsteps creaked on the floor below him—his father was pacing in his study. Inwardly excited that his father was still up, Albus decided that now was as good a time as any and crept out of his bedroom.

"Albus, what are you doing up?" his father questioned, seeing the boy peek through the study doors. Albus stepped soundlessly into the room.

"Couldn't sleep," he muttered.

"Me neither," his father's eyes crinkled as he smiled down at him.

"I need to talk to you," Albus began, eyes wandering around the old-fashioned study.

"It looks to me as if you already are," his father mused, "but go on." Albus floundered for words, his mouth opening and closing several times. "Is this about the Resurrection Stone?" his father interjected. Albus's eyes ceased wandering and grew wide, his mouth finally setting itself in a wide gape.

"How—h-how did you know about that?" Albus stuttered. His father grinned mischievously.

"You didn't think I'd leave you and James together at Hogwarts entirely unsupervised? No, I have a close eye on you." His father's green eyes were positively laughing at this.

"You mean Neville?"

"Among others." Albus's brow furrowed in thought at this statement. Who else would have close contact with his father? "I believe you've been hanging around the Hog's Head lately? At least that's what Aberforth said in his note." Ah, all questions answered. Harry continued to grin, silently chuckling to himself.

"And he told you about the stone?"

"He might've mentioned it." His father was still grinning as he said this, but the laughter had begun to leave his eyes. "But Albus," he was extremely serious now, "you need to promise me something. When I lost the stone, it was my intention that no one ever find it. Keep it in a safe place, and promise me that you won't use it ever again."

"What?" he could hardly believe what he was hearing; he had already lost the stone once, and now that he had it back, he had every intention of using it again. He wanted to speak to his namesakes directly—heck, he even wanted to speak to Fred again!

"Promise." His father's gaze intensified, and Albus knew that he wouldn't be allowed to leave unless he answered.

"I won't use it again," he agreed reluctantly.

"Good." The merriment returned to the green eyes. "Now is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?"

"No," he said, a weary tone engulfing his voice, "nothing at all." And he trudged up to his bed defeated.

*A&A*

"Hand me that plate, Al?" his father asked from behind the sink. Albus complied, and Harry placed it on the stack of breakfast dishes that were now washing themselves. Albus couldn't deny that he was itching to ask about his namesakes again—what harm could it do? The opportunity seemed all right, as his mother and James were out practicing Quidditch in the over-large front yard, and Lily was a spectator, trying desperately to decide who to favor in the intense one-on-one match.

"Dad," he began slowly.

"Yes, Al?" Harry finished drying his hands and peered over his glasses at his son.

"Aberforth said—" he paused as he took a shaky breath, "—that you were there the night Severus Snape died." His father looked shocked, and it took him a noticeably long while to reply.

"Yes, Al, I was there," Harry finally said, albeit slowly.

"Erm, well, I, uh," Albus stuttered, unable to find words, "I, um, have this dream, where I, uh, see him. Snape, I mean. Die. I have a dream where I see Snape die." He finally managed to form a coherent sentence. Harry's eyes were downcast—so his son had a deeper connection to the men whom he was named after than he thought. "I, er, wanted to know, uh, what he did to die that way. I mean I know you said he was brave, but, um, what exactly did he do?" Albus continued.

"You're too young, Albus. I'll tell you his story when you're older." Harry pushed his glasses back up on his nose and began to turn away from the boy.

"I deserve to know." Albus's tone was surprisingly steady for the amount of anger bubbling inside him. Too young? How could his father think that?

"And you will. But when you're older." His father had begun to walk away. How could he end the conversation there? Albus needed answers! If he couldn't get them from his father, he knew one place he could…

Albus sprinted up to his room, grabbing the stone and shoving it into his pocket. He then sprinted back down the stairs and out the back door—his father would know if he did this in the house.

"Albus!" his father shouted. Well it sounded as if he knew anyway. He pulled the stone from his pocket, trying to ignore the cold snow as it melted against his sock-clad feet. How had he forgotten shoes? And a cloak for that matter. Albus deeply regretted his haste.

_One turn._

He didn't care about his promise to his father. He needed answers.

_Two turns._

He could hear his father's shouts from the back porch of the house. He didn't care about that either. He just kept running. He was almost at the thick trees that lined the yard—he could have this conversation in private.

_Three—_

Albus stopped midway through the final turn. Something had cracked beneath his feet… Wait. Where was the small yet rather deep pond he and James used to skate on? Wasn't it off to his left? He guessed it wasn't as the cracking sound split his ears yet again. Albus tried to make his way off the ice, but with his next step, his foot fell through and dragged the rest of him with it. He flailed in the water but was sinking fast—the stone had become immensely heavy in his hands. Albus held on with all his might, but the stone steadily propelled him downwards as effectively as a hundred pound weight. He wanted desperately to hold on, but he felt himself running out of air. He clung to the stone fervently—he couldn't let his answers slip through his fingers. A large bubble escaped his lips: he was out of air. He was going to drown if he didn't let go… With a last remorseful look, he let the stone fall from his hand and began to kick upward. The surface seemed so far away, and he was so exhausted. His body felt weak as blackness creeped into the outskirts of his vision—he wasn't going to make it. He stretched out his hand in a feeble attempt to reach the surface, but as he did, everything went black.

*A&A*

Darkness engulfed him as he felt his mind begin to work more clearly. Wait, darkness? Isn't death supposed to be really bright? Where's the weird light that's supposed to come towards him? Why did he never see eleven years flash before his eyes? Albus's eyes flew open as he searched for the answer, which came simply as he looked around his very crowded room—he wasn't dead. Twelve pairs of eyes stared at him in concern and relief. Albus went around the circle remembering each of their names (Nana Molly, Papa, Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur, Uncle Charlie, Uncle George and Aunt Angelina, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, his parents, and James), letting out a sigh of relief that the trauma of the day's events hadn't caused him amnesia. It would be horrid to have to learn all those names again.

"Albus?" James choked out. Albus smiled weakly at his brother, who promptly threw himself at him in a great hug. "We thought…" his already muffled voice trailed off. "Don't ever do anything that stupid again," he finally chastised, breaking away from the hug. With the end of James's hug, everyone began speaking at once, asking if he was okay, if he needed anything, if he wanted any special onion soup (Nana Molly said it was still hot—Albus was sorely tempted), or if he was warm enough. Albus opened his mouth to speak, but it was Harry who beat him to it.

"Everyone, thank you for your concern, but Albus will be fine. Go downstairs and tell the kids that he's awake now. If you don't mind, I'd like to speak with him alone." Harry ushered his extended family out of Albus's room, then turned and sat on the bed. "Al," he began, "what you did was very stupid." Albus, who had just managed to sit up, hung his head. "You shouldn't have run from the house like that. But I take some blame, too. I was eleven once, injured after defending a stone, sort of like you, and with questions that wouldn't be answered. Not until I was fifteen, anyway. So I know what you were thinking, that you had to find out everything on your own. But Al, that only puts you in danger. And I think that this information would be better heard from me than anyone else, so ask anything. Every question you ever needed an answer to, ask it now. I'll answer honestly, I swear." Albus felt his eyes grow wide and well with tears as he pulled his father in for a hug. He would finally get his questions answered.

And for the first time in his life, Albus nearly ran out of questions. He had only one left—one that he was pretty sure he couldn't ask his dad: What pranks would he, Scorpius, and Quinn pull once they got back to Hogwarts?

*THE END*


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